


Spraypaint

by musesoffire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 21:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesoffire/pseuds/musesoffire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Incredibly fluffy high school ER au)</p><p>Grand romantic gestures are hard, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spraypaint

           ”YESSSSSSSS!” Courfeyrac shouted. He launched himself from the floor, paying no mind to the game controller that fell from his lap to the hardwood with a loud smack, and tackled Enjolras in a huge bear hug. Enjolras, who now found himself squished between Courfeyrac and the leather back cushions of the sofa he had been sitting on, looked pleadingly to Combeferre, who sat cross-legged beside him. Combeferre made no motion to help, but cracked a half smile.

“I can’t breathe.” Enjolras choked out, staring at the ceiling uncomfortably as he waited for Courfeyrac to let go. Courfeyrac gave it another few seconds before releasing him. He continued to beam hugely as he plopped down on the floor in front of the couch, his dark curls bouncing wildly in every direction.

“Our Tin Man has a heart after all!” Courfeyrac burst, clapping his hands together excitedly.

“Have you told Grantaire yet? Does he know?” Combeferre asked. The way Enjolras’ eyes lit up when Combeferre mentioned Grantaire made Courfeyrac let out a little squeak that sounded vaguely like a kitten.

“No. Actually,” Enjolras looked at them seriously. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He paused, considering his words. What was he supposed to say? “ _I am actually completely incapable of asking Grantaire out like a normal person because every time I open my mouth in his presence I end up saying something awful and it’s the worst feeling in the world because I feel like I can talk to complete strangers about life and death and poverty and classism but I can’t talk to the senior in the Rolling Stones t-shirt without sounding like an asshole.”_

What he ended up going with was this: “You two seem better suited to coming up with grand romantic gestures than I am.”

Combeferre raised his eyebrows, considering this point.

“He does have some sense after all!” Courfeyrac laughed. “Oh man, did you come to the right place.” The mischievous twinkle in his eyes made Enjolras wonder if this was such a good idea after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure you don’t want to do something more, I don’t know, legal?” Combeferre groaned, tossing the bag of newly purchased spray paint cans into the back of Courfeyrac’s 90’s station wagon. “Like, alright. You don’t want to ask him out in person. I get that.” (Enjolras blanched slightly, wondering how Combeferre had put that together. He was sure he hadn’t admitted to it.) “But couldn’t you just send him flowers or a letter or something? Besides, what if his parents get mad because a bunch of kids are defacing their property at one in the morning?”

“Combeferre, Combeferre, Combeferre. Oh Ye of little faith!” Courfeyrac scolded, clambering into the backseat as Combeferre slid in behind the steering wheel and Enjolras claimed shotgun. “You don’t think I do my research? Grantaire lives with his older sister, who’s visiting her boyfriend in the next town over. She won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“Which means nobody will be there except Grantaire, who’s probably asleep by now.” Enjolras concluded. “So we have time to get in, paint the driveway, and leave before anyone sees us.”

“Fine. Okay. Whatever.” Combeferre sighed in defeat. “Do you know what you’re going to write?”

“Oh, you should do a quote!” Courfeyrac suggested, whipping out his phone. “I’ll just look up some love poems and…”

“Thanks, Courfeyrac, but I think I’m just going to keep it simple.” Enjolras cringed at the idea of Grantaire looking out his window to see a flowery sonnet scrawled on the ground below. “He’d probably hate me forever if I covered his driveway in cheesy rhymes or something. I mean, I would, if I were him.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged a quick glance. “Enjolras, I don’t think you could do anything to make Grantaire hate you.” Combeferre mused. Courfeyrac nodded.

When they pulled up to the curb in front of Grantaire’s little white house, Courfeyrac and Combeferre pulled the bags of paint from the trunk while Enjolras walked down the small driveway, glancing quickly at the windows to make sure Grantaire wasn’t up. He swept a few stray leaves off the concrete with his shoe, clearing a place to write.

“The coast is clear?” Courfeyrac asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep quiet. The resultant noise sounded a bit like the shouting of a seventy year old chain smoker. Combeferre and Enjolras simultaneously covered their faces with their hands.

“Sorry.” Courfeyrac amended. He and Combeferre made their way to Enjolras, setting the sacks of paint down and surveying the windows quickly. Once they were sure no one was awake, the boys pulled the cans from the bags, shaking them and lining them up neatly on the edge of the drive.

“You want us to paint something?” Combeferre offered.

“No, I’d rather write it myself.” Enjolras replied. He pushed his light curls behind his ears and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before grabbing a can and crouching on the ground. Combeferre and Courfeyrac sat down in the cool grass of the lawn, watching quietly as Enjolras began to paint.

As it turns out, spray painting is harder than it looks. Or at least, that’s what Enjolras thought as he struggled to form letters, which turned out wonky and distorted anyway despite his best efforts. What was intended to say ‘ _I love you_ ’ ended up looking a whole lot more like ‘ _L ieVo veU._ ’ Additionally, the heart he had tried to draw looked more like a misshapen kidney. He stood up, tossing the can to the ground in frustration.

The soft thump of a window opening from above echoed through the street. Enjolras looked up to see Grantaire leaning out of the room above the garage, staring down at him. His dark hair was a mess, and his eyes were red with exhaustion, but he smiled genuinely. “You know, Romeo, if you want someone to teach you how to tag shit without looking like a total dipshit, I can help. Here, let me pull some pants on and show you how a real man defaces property.” Grantaire tried to seem casual, but was unable to hide his excitement as he dashed inside and pulled the curtains closed.

Courfeyrac went to scream ecstatically, but Combeferre put a hand over his mouth.

Enjolras tapped his foot impatiently as he waited, arms folded.

“Okay, let’s fix this bullshit.” Grantaire jogged out the door, now sporting a baggy, wrinkled pair of jeans along with his t-shirt, printed with ‘ _thought provoking one-liner_ ’ in white letters across the chest. He reached down, grabbing one of the fresh cans of paint and shaking it before going to work on the driveway, thickening Enjolras’ letters until they were all neat and uniform. As he painted, he moved freely across the concrete, jumping backwards and forwards as necessary. His arm moved in wide gestures, and he almost did a little flourish as he finished each letter. Enjolras gazed on in fascination.

“Hey, you can help me fix your little doodle there.” Grantaire paused, gesturing to the heart. His face was flushed with activity, and his hair was somehow wilder than before. He panted a bit, wiping his face. “What do you say? Oh, or maybe this really was supposed to be a fetus.” Grantaire laughed.

“Yeah, because obviously I meant to draw a fetus on your driveway.” Enjolras smiled, walking up beside him. Grantaire passed him the paint, laying his hand over Enjolras’ and gently guiding it as they evened out the sides, slowly outlining a heart and filling it in with steady strokes. By the time they had finished, it didn’t look half bad.

“You mean that?” Grantaire asked, pointing his shoe at the message.

“Yes.” Enjolras replied seriously. “I do.” Grantaire’s face broke into a goofy grin that reached from ear to ear.

“You’re not just pranking me or something?”

“No. I promise.” Enjolras answered, staring him in the eye.

“Hey, Tigger, Owl, is this guy shitting me right now?” Grantaire looked over Enjolras’ shoulder, shouting at Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

“NO! NO HE’S NOT! HE’S REALLY NOT!” Courfeyrac yelled back. “Hey wait, who’s Tigger? I want to be Tigger.”

“But I don’t want to be-” Combeferre exhaled in resignation. “Fine, you can be Tigger.”

“Well Jesus Christ, you could have told me that ages ago!” Grantaire exclaimed at Enjolras, ignoring Courfeyrac and Combeferre. “Do you know how much that would have-” he trailed off, verging on hysteria.

“Well, I am telling you now.” Enjolras declared. “That’s what all this is.” He gestured towards the newly painted driveway.

“You fucking-” Grantaire began, unable to finish. Instead, he hugged Enjolras tightly.

“This is requital, right?” Enjolras questioned in confusion.

“Yeah it is, you dipshit.” Grantaire released Enjolras, sighing and pushing dark strands of hair out of his eyes. He looked up at the night sky, avoiding Enjolras’ gaze. “Oh my god, you don’t even know.”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre looked at each other in a silent acknowledgement of how true that was.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry  
> The whole point of this fic was to find an excuse for kisses with hands covered in spraypaint and that nEVer HAPpENs in thIS FIc???
> 
> I have failed  
> Such is life


End file.
